Reflection
by Ri Francis Walker
Summary: Catherine is a 17 year old girl living in the late 18th century. She has rich parents who don't love her and only one friend in the world; her cousin. Then one day, people she knows start to dissapear and an ex-Volturi runaway becomes a part of her life..
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer-I don't own the Twilight, New Moon, or Eclipse, but the plot and characters are mine. This disclaimer covers this prologue and all the coming chapters for this series.**

A reflection is a strange thing. It is a perfect reproduction of that which it reflects, yet it does not truly exist. It is an unreal image of something real. It is an immaterial point of view of something that is material. It's there, but not really. You can't hear it, you can't smell it, you can't touch it, but it's there. You know it's there because you can see it. A reflection is like an unconscious consciousness. Some people are driven mad by their own reflection. Some people are inspired by it. Some people lavish the opportunity to bask in the eyes of themselves. Some people can't stand their own reflection and yet still some people are indifferent.

These are the things that occurred to me as I looked down into the black water of the lake that seemed to have no bottom. I looked deep into my own eyes and saw worlds, universes, galaxies of drifting sadness. Why I was here, facing the only thing that could convince me of the truth, the harsh painful truth that until now, I had been able to dismiss, I was unsure of. Yet here I stood, alone, in the dead of night, staring down what I could not deny. And no matter how unreal it was, it was there. My truth, my reflection.

Authors note- I'm sorry it's so short but I've got (what I think) is a brilliant story to follow. PLEASE REVIEW!!!


	2. Engagement

**Well, here's chapter one! I'm not the kind to just immediately leap into the story, so this chapter is basically for introducing the main characters and beginning the plot. Sorry it took so long, and enjoy! . **

As I sat at the window with my elbow on the sill and my chin cupped in my hand, looking out into the thousand swirling colors of autumn, I thought about life. Life, in all its millions upon millions of forms had, at one point, dominated this earth.

From the golden warmth of dandelions, to the gentle pounding of the deer's hoof beats, to the almost inaudible scuttling of the beetle, even the rustling of the trees as they whispered ancient secrets to each other, forbidden to human ears, teemed with life. God, Gaea, Allah, or perhaps even no-on had willed this world into existence, breathing life into every corner, every cave, every mountain, into the air, into the sea, into the many creatures of this world, and eventually, into the hearts of men. _Not the brightest idea, on the part of whoever it was._ I thought sourly.

This, in turn, trailed off into thoughts about death. Where did we go, when we died? Even the shortest lives on this earth were far too meaningful to just dissolve into the air. Perhaps those of us who did good things when alive went to heaven, and those of us who did the opposite went to hell. But what about those in the middle? Purgatory? Or was there no heaven and hell?

Perhaps there was simply a world of the dead where we all went, the good and the bad of us alike, to spend the rest of eternity sorrowful mourning of the things we would have done when alive, if we knew what awaited us in death.

Or perhaps, when we died, we simply died. Along with the death of our bodies, our souls just disintegrated into the air, to become one with the many others who had made this journey before us. We simply became one with the rest of the world, without need to make conscious decisions or the urge to communicate with others.

But what gave us that urge to communicate with others? Our souls? If so, what connected our souls so strongly to our bodies? What bonded them both so tightly that no material or immaterial force could separate them, save death?

"It is not your body or the needs of this world you should be worrying about, but your immortal soul," these words mingled with my thoughts. My friends, family, and all the many faces of the people who had influence on my life had always told me this.

But why then, did our souls just cease to exist, or at least could not exist on this earth, in the absence of our bodies? Life, simply. An unconscious willpower, so to speak. An unexplainable force, day in and day out, willing us to survive, to exist.

As my thoughts tumbled around each other, intertwining, tangling, mingling and blending with each other, the subconscious part of my mind brought me back to reality.

This had been happening a lot recently, the philosophical part of my mind coming to life. In all my seventeen years, I had always strived to be, what the modern society of the early 1900's considered, a lady. I was always polite, was a good painter, reader, walked with my back straight, and never questioned anyone. I kept my eyes dull, sentences short, and thoughts unfinished, as was expected of all women.

Every day I mentally abused and beat down my will to be heard. Every day I forced myself into the dreaded corset, which was more like a form of torture than an attempt to stay modest, making my bosom look more like that of a pigeon's than that of a healthy young woman's. Every day I pinned my long, luscious brunette hair, in which I stored most of my pride, in a tight bun to the back of my head, so as not to seem too flashy or self-righteous. And every day for the past year I had pleasantly yet emotionally detached considered my suitors, all the men my father thought to be worthy enough to marry me.

We had an unroyal, yet exceedingly rich family, so, irregardless of me as a person, single men were drawn to my presence like flies. All of whom were always at least over forty.

Thankfully, none of the men so far had been respectable or clean (my father's word for having good bloodlines) or sober enough to please him as a suitable companion for me, and it was likely none ever would.

My father, being a high ranking general in the army, was a very hard man to please, and it did not help that regarded everything with an indifferent coolness; nothing ever surprised him, nothing pleased him, nothing moved him. What had compelled my mother to want to marry him, would always be beyond me. I had recently begun to think it was an arranged marriage, much like the one my father was currently attempting to achieve for me.

My mother was a very intellectual woman, though society forbade her from bringing that fact to light. She had an answer to everything, life, death, time, movement, and basically everything, besides love.

It made sense that she could not explain love, for I suspected that she never experienced it. She did not really love my father, and she certainly did not love me. I was more like a burden to her, an unescapable bond that kept her from leaving him. It was unlikely that there was some secret love before my father, because aside from her complicated and intelligent spirit, she was altogether unappealing. I didn't think this in cruelty, just as a mere fact. She had likely been lively and beautiful once, but was sucked into the idea that women merely served to keep their husbands company, not allowed to have opinions of their own, then she had lost her charm.

In my recent outburst of mental understanding of the world, I had begun to notice things like this. Details that until now, had remained invisible and un-interesting to me. To be honest, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved having a more perceptive take on what was going on around me in the world, and in response, the world had thrown a million things back at me, to clarify for my own personnel enjoyment.

It had taken me awhile to piece together what had brought on this new wave of understanding. It was because my cousin, Sarah, had recently become engaged. Sarah and I had been exchanging letters since we had first learned to write, and we were closer than sisters. She was the only person who I could be honest with about everything, and she would take me seriously. Even though I never had anything intelligent to say, since until recently I was still suppressing my emotions, but she faithfully responded to every letter, making plenty of her own points.

She was a truly creative woman. She had a very strong opinion on just about everything, and never allowed anyone to tell her she had no right. Ever since she was six and I was five, when we would visit each other's houses, she would always ask questions far beyond her years that completely baffled the adults. She never gave up on anything, and that was one of the most beautiful things about her.

Only one of them. Sarah also happened to be exceedingly beautiful, and not just in the eyes of men. Whenever she walked into a room, it always took everyone a moment to recollect themselves after seeing her. She had long blond hair that flowed down to her waist, which she absolutely refused to pin up, and an oval shaped face with very full lips and striking green eyes. She was more than common tall for a woman, but this did not bother her. All in all, she looked not that different from an angel.

She had been my best and only friend, and I hers. I loved her more than anything or anyone could possibly imagine. When we were young, we were absolutely inseparable. When she had moved away, we wrote letters every single week, never missing a beat. She was my only escape from my parents' harsh indifference or if not, their constant nagging about not only insignificant, but already beyond-perfected details of my life.

And now, she was getting married.

I was unbearably jealous and almost hurt because of this. It was selfish, I know, but the one person in my life who actually cared about me and was all my own, was getting married to someone else! She was going to split her love for me in two, and give half to some man! Only now had I realized just how much Sarah had meant to me, and the pain was unbearable. It had started when I received her letter about a week previously.

* * *

My Dearest Catherine, 

How happy I am! Antonio has finally proposed, and we are due to be married approximately four months from now. Married! There is no limit to the utter bliss that one feels when one finds their soul mate, their destined love! The day he proposed is one that will never fade from my mind. I will relive it every day these coming four months until we are officially wed. Oh, Catherine, my sweet, you will never truly understand what I am writing, what I am feeling, until you yourself feel it. It is a feeling of total joy and bliss that just seeps through your skin, warming you to the core. You will, no doubt, have the great benefit of knowing this feeling soon, I hope.

Sincerely,

Sarah.

* * *

_Short and sweet._ I had thought sarcastically, almost crossly to myself after reading her letter. And she had said "sincerely. Not "yours truly," not "your good friend," not even "love,". But, "sincerely", which meant, she was no longer mine. My only sense of comfort in the world had gone, leaving me hanging by a thread. 

With this realization came understanding. It was almost as if Sarah had given me her intellect in replacement for her love. I knew now that I was alone, and with that I realized I would have to know the world for myself now.

Everything started becoming more clear, yet not. Instead of being merely a place to exist, there world had become a door opening into a room constructed of billions of questions. I noticed everything now, questioned everything. Maybe, I had begun to think, Sarah has given me a gift. Maybe I should be more independent anyway, instead of clinging pathetically to every single word she wrote to me. That was before she invited me to stay with her for the day, at her fiancés cottage, in the country.

The whole carriage ride there, a lifetime's worth of questions ran through my mind. Who was this man? Antonio. What was he like? In love with my sister, obviously enough. What did he look like? I was about to find out.

And now, as I waited in the living room for Sarah to bring out tea, with my elbow on the sill and my chin cupped in my hand, thinking about life, it occurred to me that my cousin had finally found someone besides me, her lifeless cousin, with whom she could spend time with and who would likely do anything for her. I should be happy for her, and stop feeling sorry for myself.

"Catherine!" Sarah called, exasperated, from the kitchen, yanking me abruptly out of my daydream.

"Sorry, what?" I muttered, looking up.

"Good heavens, I've been screaming your name for almost five minutes! Milk or lemon?" she asked, calming down.

What a stupid question to be exhausted over, I thought to myself. Clearly, this getting-married thing had gone to her head. Where was the fierce spirit of hers, that I knew so well?

"Lemon, please." I replied, soothingly.

She shuffled back into the kitchen, muttering something or other about need of sugar.

At that moment, the front door was kicked open rather unceremoniously, and swung inward with a bang.

"Sarah, where's my Sarah?!" yelled a cheery, booming baritone voice from the hulking shape in the doorway. So this was Antonio.

"Tony, my love!" responded Sarah in a singsong voice that I did not recognize as her own. She ran forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Oh, my Sarah." he breathed.

Tony was very tall and rather handsome, I would give him that. He had a heart shaped face, strawberry blond hair, pale skin, and soft gray-blue eyes that seemed kind. When he pulled away to look at Sarah, they filled with admiration and overbearing love. I felt like I was intruding on the world's most nurtured secret, and had to look away. He noticed the movement in his peripheral vision and looked up.

"Oh, how very rude of me. You must be Catherine." he amended, holding a hand out for me to shake.

"How do you do?" I said politely.

"HAHAHAHAHA!!!!" he chortled, surprising me. "Never better, I assure you."

"Catherine, this is Tony, my fiancé." Sarah said, her words saturated in love.

"It's a pleasure."

"It most certainly is. Sarah has told me so much about you, I feel I know you already." the thought made me uncomfortable, seeing as I had just met him. But it was mostly because I was still feeling a little sore that she had chosen him over me.

"Well, I'm happy you think so." I said, trying to convince myself more than him.

He trailed off lazily into the kitchen, unfastening his cloak as he did so.

"So…." began Sarah awkwardly, "do you like him? Do you think he is good for me?"

I sighed. "I like that he likes you." I gently kissed her forehead. "And I'm very happy for you."

This seemed to relax her a little bit, as she followed Tony into the kitchen to finish preparing the tea.

* * *

The rest of the day was very similar to that morning, with Sarah showing me around the small estate that was soon to be her home, introducing me to the neighbors, showing me where her garden would be, always managing to fondly fit Antonio's name into the sentence.

Sometimes, He would suddenly kiss her, cupping her pale face gently in his hands as he did so, making me look awkwardly to the side. He was madly in love with her, I could see that.

Looking around, I realized what a truly wonderful place for them to live this was. It was quiet, full of nature, nothing to distract them from each other. There were neighbors to the right and left on the surrounding lots, but a thick veil of trees that you could just barely see through separated them from each other. There was a nice big backyard that was a good square mile all around behind the cottage, and woods beyond that.

Here, the sound of a stream could be heard gently trickling nearby, the whispers of mother earth could be felt in the wind as it twisted and turned in invisible bliss, her heart beat could be heard in the hoof-beats of the deer as they fled, or in the silent padding footstep of the serene wolf as it trailed them. This was natural paradise at its height, and this was the first and last of it I would ever see.

**YAY! By all means, let me know if you think it moves too fast or too slow or if it's boring or whatever, please review.**

**And no, Catherine is not IN love with her cousin. She loves her, but not like that. :P**

**-Chapter two coming as soon as possible!**


	3. Reminiscence

**Wonderful, lovely, beautiful people! Thank you for waiting! Thank you for reading! For those of you who reviewed, thank you for reviewing!**

**But, try as we might, we can never compare to my wonderful, lovely, beautiful, amazing, fabulous, and intelligent betas from the Lex: Gemini93, Twilight 3****, and Cullen.Hale.Love.. Enjoy!**

**Reminiscence**

Monday. It had been my least favorite day of the week for as far back as I could remember.

Monday was the day that signified the end of the weekend and the beginning of the week. Monday was the day that crushed the pleasant knowledge of finished studies with the harsh knowledge of those yet to come. Monday was the day that made bile rise from my throat and left a bad taste in my mouth when I thought of the tutors that were to visit my house in the coming week. Visit, they would, and force the supposed necessary knowledge of life right back down again.

More specifically, Monday was the day I was instructed in art; which of course meant Monday was the day I had to see my art instructor. Her name was Mary.

Mary. Even the thought of her name made me sick. She knew next to nothing about art, and had barely enough patience to manage teaching. She almost always found some way to demean everything I did. Perhaps my crosshatching was done with the wrong application of pressure, or my strokes seem to flow in the wrong direction, or my sketches done with the wrong piece of charcoal. She had minimal knowledge of that which she criticized, but this did not deter her.

She had a well-nurtured bitterness which she withheld from her other pupils, but threw at me with all the strength and finesse of a long awaited storm at the end of a summer drought.

With a great amount of forced effort on my part, I managed to ignore or disregard most of her insults and mindless hate. However, I could never completely dismiss it, because the presence was overwhelming.

Regardless of anything I ever did or said, she would not let down her oncoming showers of anger and destruction toward me. This was because I knew her secret. She had a pattern she followed, and I had figured it out.

* * *

Mary was a rather complicated woman. 

She was extremely beautiful, but not in the way that Sarah was. Mary was sensual. She had straight red hair, catlike green eyes, freckles, and thick lips. She was average height and always wore skirts above the ankle, considered extremely immodest.

She knew she was appealing, and she used this to her advantage.

Her pattern was as follows:

One. Apply for and receive position of visiting art tutor.

Two. Leading up to the first lesson, pretend to be sweet and kind in order to impress student and

student's mother.

Three. Arrange for first lesson to be in the evening when the father is home….

Four. Make a big show of her amazing artistic talent when father walks by in order to take his

attention.

Five. Request to discuss student's progress privately with father.

Six. "Discuss" student's progress privately with father.

Seven. Mysteriously receive a separate, extra sum of money every "progress-discussion."

Eight, a. Repeat steps 5, 6 and 7 until mother or student interferes.

Eight, b. If no-one interferes, repeat steps 5, 6 and 7, but emotionally abuse student whenever the chance arises.

My father's affair with Mary had never bothered my mother. Normally, this would be strange, but my mother was in denial of her whole life at the time, so she pretended that nothing was wrong. There was no effort made to cover the relationship, so I knew. I couldn't care less. My newborn philosophical self told me that Mary was only human; only trying to get by in the world.

For some reason or other, she had convinced herself that I gave a damn and would try to stunt the affair or get her fired. This was not true in even the least bit. We were never truly a family in the first place, why should that change now? What I hated her for and what put a major damper on our relationship, was that she thought that I cared and in turn, sought out to ruin me emotionally.

I continued to ignore her.

And yet, the flow of mindless insults and perfectly-aimed hatred came toward me, endlessly.

Mary had become frustrated that I paid her heartfelt disgust no heed. As a result, she had thrown some rather heated comments about my image into the bottomless pit of her collection of sayings, meant to offend me.

"Pretty in the face, but with a very dull soul, I'm afraid…"she had experimented one day. When this did not receive the desired response, she tried again.

"My dear, I never quite realized how far apart your eyes are. It is really quite distracting. Do you think you could you try not to look in my direction at the same time I look in yours? It will make teaching you a great deal less stressful if I do not have to witness such a deformation every time I look up. If not, we shall have to ask your father to provide us with a bag to place over your head during our art sessions. We would cut holes in the sack were you eyes would be, of course. But then again, that would remind me of your horrid face…..tsk, tsk, my dear. What are we to do?" Mary prodded, giving me a cruel sideways glance.

I had managed to ignore a series of comments like these, as they came on a regular basis whenever I saw her. I had learned to adjust myself to tune it out.

Vile as it may seem, I found I rather enjoyed her reactions to my bland indifference. As I would sit there, pleasantly hiding my amusement, she would recite every swear word in her vocabulary. And I say, there were more hidden inside her head than I thought existed in the English language.

But one day, one particular Monday, she had gone _too_ far.

* * *

I had suggested we go to the park for my art lesson so I could do a pastel picture of something. _No need to satisfy her with thinking she's intelligent enough to offend me, but no need to be unpleasant_I thought. I had figured, if I was going to have to spend time with Mary, I might as well lessen the burden of her heavy presence by making it in a pleasant environment, like the park. Pastel was messy, yes, but practicing would help me fix this. 

She had agreed, reluctantly, seeing as I would be happy to go, that we should go to the park. I am sure it helped that she could not think of anything better to do. What struck me as odd, though, was that she did not dramatically insult me whilst agreeing. Perhaps this was going to be pleasant day, after all.

We arrived at the park in the early afternoon. After arranging my pad, oils, and stand, I studied my environment, contemplating what I should draw.

There was a vast lake next to us, but almost every artist had drawn a picture of a lake. There was a bench; boring. A mother duck leading her babies away for a swimming lesson? Too euphoric.

Ignoring the back of my teacher as she skulked away to feel sorry for herself, I decided on an oak tree.

It was very tall, and had an intricate blend of orange, red, yellow, brown, and lingering green as a few rebellious leaves clung to life.

The picture had taken me four hours to finish.

I took as much time as I desired; getting every color, never skipping over an insignificant detail, forming the shadow to look as if the wind were blowing through the trees.

When I was finished, it looked amazingly realistic, as if the picture moved with its own life when you looked at it. It was beautiful. I had decided to title it, _Evanescence_; for the real tree's unperturbed beauty would only last so long, before fading into nothing and dying at the cold hand of winter.

It was well into the late afternoon when Mary returned from wherever she had gone while I was painting.

When she first laid eyes on my drawing, her jaw dropped; she could do nothing but stand there and gape it.

Then, as if it were a mistake, she blinked and looked away.

"Well done, but did you remember to, eh..." she trailed off.

I raised my eyebrows in mock curiosity.

"Well, now, is that my paper you are using?" It was not, and I said this. "It most certainly looks like it. Hmm, you could have at least asked me. No manners at all…." Bitch. I hated her.

"It is not your paper, it is my own. I think you are well aware of that." I replied, calmly "Ma'am," I added, in amendment for what she would certainly take as an insult.

"And you are bold enough to lie about it?" Mary began to dig," I wonder what your father will think. I think punishment will be in order. I am sure you cannot help that you are stupid, but you are plenty in control of your own tongue."

"My father won't give a damn. He does not give a damn about anything." I could not help myself. I knew, as soon as the words left my mouth, that I had made a mistake.

She would immediately take action. True, my father did not give a damn, but she would, no doubt, find some other way to punish me. When I was seven, she had gone so far as to beat me when I told her she was wrong about something.

"Oh, I disagree," She replied calmly.

Wow. This was the last thing I expected.

"I hope you do not mean yourself. You are worth next to nothing to my father. Nothing more than a sex slave, a worthless wench. You probably mean even less to him than me or my mother, and that is saying quite a lot." My mouth voiced my thoughts of its own accord. I was not angry, just frustrated. It was a relief to voice the truth, finally.

"Is that so? We shall see." With that, she tore the picture from the stand, and threw it into the lake.

* * *

When we arrived home, I stormed through the front door, past the doorman, ran up all three flights of winding staircase, burst into my room, slammed the door, and cried. 

For maybe the third time in my life, I cried. This first time had been when I was born, as it is for most people; because of the alien world that now surrounded me, so different from the safe warmth of the womb.

The second time, when Mary had beaten me with a candelabra when I was seven; because of the pain that lanced across my body every time she struck. Once, my forearm as I dodged. Twice, my back as I turned to run. Three times, the back of my head as I fell to the floor. Four times, my shoulder as I lay there, sobbing. Five times, six times, seven, eight, nine, ten…

Now, I cried for everything. Not just my picture, but my life.

To my father, I was merely a shadow in the dull portrait of his life. To my mother, I was a burden that prevented her from leaving an unsatisfying and melancholy existence. To my teachers, I was simply a job; an entryway to the well stocked and brimming pockets of the family fortune. To Mary, an access point to my father's life, bed, and bank account; along with a willing punching bag with which she bombarded with anger, frustration, and hate. To Sarah, a friend, yes, but one who had expired her term when she met Tony.

To myself, a monotonous and pointless body. A simple existence that lived with no meaning.

Yes, I could observe the world and answer questions now, but to what point? Was that to be the only enjoyment I received from life? I was worthless.

The tears poured down my cheeks like water from a fountain. Heat rolled off of my face in waves. All I could bring myself to do was sit there and weep pitifully.

* * *

The next morning, I felt a great deal better. I had finally come to terms with myself, with reality. 

Even though the conclusion I had come to was a depressing one, I was relieved.

* * *

Tuesday I had voice practice and French. 

I flowed through my lessons with ease, not even having to think about who I answered to, or how to annunciate properly, or how to sit straight.

My parents knew nothing of what happened the previous day. Mary figured it a waste of breath to tell them, since it was true my father did not give a damn. I did not think it mattered.

So the day passed pleasantly on into the night, where I sat in front of the fire.

I watched the unsteady turrets and points of orange and yellow grapple with each other. They twisted and turned and threaded through each other. They advanced and retreated and advanced and retreated until they advanced far enough to swallow each other up, and divide into new spirals to fight new battles. It was relaxing, pleasant, and warm in front of the crackling and spitting fire. I was at peace.

Someone coughed behind me.

"Mademoiselle? Catherine, miss, there is a letter for you from your cousin, Sarah." Said the doorman.

I slowly got up to retrieve my letter.

"Thank you."

He bowed, and left.

* * *

The letter was tear-stained and barely legible, as if it had been written in a rushed, unsteady hand. 

Catherine,

I am lost as to what I should do. Tony has gone missing, leaving a trail of blood behind him into the woods! The neighbors and the local authorities have been so kind in helping me to find him, but the trail stops dead less than a few yards into the woods!

The night after you visited, he had gone hunting a fox that we thought would pose a threat to the chickens we were going to get soon. He did not return.

A trail of blood! I am so worried and am at a loss for what is expected of me. I refuse to believe he is dead, but all the signs point to the fact that I should not expect him to return. I do not know what I will do if he does not return.

What shall I do? I need your strength.

Sarah.

* * *

Strength, I had none. 

But nonetheless, come the next weekend, when I was allowed to go about my own personal errands, I would visit her and give her a comforting shoulder to cry on.

Perhaps my life was not as simple as I thought.

**ZOMG! What's gonna happen next?! Stay tuned to find out...**

**I'm hoping to get few more reviews for this one, and won't put up chapter three until I have a decent amount. :P So review and spread the word! Haha, spread the WORD...**


	4. Some things change, some do not

**Gah, I am SO SORRY for the long, unbearable wait I put you all through. But, finaly, chapter three is here! Rejoice!**

**Of course, I would like to thank my fabulous beta's who make my desperate ramblings actually seem like a plausible story: Gemini93, Twilight, and Eternity's Charm/Twilight's Charm.**

**Disclaimer: Hah, me? Own Twilight? You mean, like, besides the copy I got at Borders? Damn, I wish. **

**Some things change, some things stay the same.**

I awoke early Wednesday morning.

Lying there on my bed, I thought for hours about what I would say to Sarah when I saw her next Saturday.

What does one say to someone who has lost a loved one? Worse yet, a loved one who left nothing but their memory and a trail of blood behind?

The affection I had seen between Sarah and Tony went beyond "love at first sight", sunk deeper than "true love", brought them closer than two who were "meant to be". They were _soul mates_. They were more in love than Romeo and Juliet, and now all that Sarah had left of her beloved Tony was a trail of dried, caking blood.

What could I possibly say to comfort her?

I, whose only experience with love had been with she who was mourning, had been called on to comfort her. However, I was as un-experienced as the next person, when it came to comfort and closeness.

No, there was nothing I could say to my grieving friend. I would just simply be there. Merely a shoulder to cry on. That was all I could be, and for Sarah's sake, be it, I would.

I slowly lifted myself off the bed, reluctant to face the day ahead.

Today, I had social skills; a subject taught to me by my melancholy mother. This meant that, all day, I would be interrupted and corrected if my words slurred, abruptly shoved back if I slouched when I walked, my back tied straight if I slumped in my chair, and tediously lectured if I objected in any way.

Isn't life _grand_?

I padded over to the water basin and washed my face. Forcing a comb through my tangled hair, I debated on what I would wear that day.

I decided on a simple white blouse and a long, navy blue skirt. Putting this on and lacing up my boots, I turned to the mirror to examine my appearance,

Whoever discovered the properties of how to make a mirror, was a genius. It is a beautiful, honest thing; one's image. It shows nigh but the truth, even if the viewer will not accept it.

I looked in the mirror and realized; no, accepted that I was beautiful. I had seen this very same image every morning of my life that I could remember. It had always showed me the truth, but I chose not to accept it. It showed me that I was actually appealing and unique, but I had chosen to believe Mary's words of hate, which over time had led me to believe I was ugly. The mirror showed me that I had the potential to be a strong individual, but I had followed the voices of everyone who influenced my life, and believed myself to be stupid. It showed me that I was me; that I could chose my own life, and be happy.

If I could be happy, why should I not choose to? Why should I allow myself to be miserable, when happiness was an option? Why should I continue to degrade myself by allowing the situation at hand to continue, when I had the power to change things? Even if whatever else awaited me in the world were not total bliss, in any situation would be better than here, in the situation I was in.

I decided then, that I would leave. I would pack the few things that were dear to me, and go.

But, where would I go to, were I to run away? I could not think of a place anywhere near here that would take in an adolescent, wealthy looking woman without asking questions and spreading rumors. Besides, of course, the brothels, which was not even a thought that crossed my mind. I was not that desperate.

Perhaps I could go live with Sarah, and provide her with the help that she needed. I would not be much fun to have around, but at least she would have some familiar company, and that may provide her a slight comfort.

I would live out this week like nothing was amiss, then make my escape. The morning I left for Sarah's house, would be the last morning I saw this wretched place.

There was a knock at the door.

"Mademoiselle?" the butler queried, "Are you decent?"

"Yes," I called; I had never been more decent in my entire life. "Do come in!"

"A letter for you, miss, from your cousin, Sarah."

I hesitated. "Yes, I believe I received it last night. Surely the doorman must have told you?" I smiled, kindly. "I am sorry for the confusion."

"Yes, Miss Catherine, I am aware"

I waited for him to leave.

"This is a different one," He stated matter-of-factly, "It came in just this morning."

I paused. So soon after she had just sent one the previous night?

I carefully took the letter from his hands, as if it were made of glass. Curtly nodding at him to leave, I placed the letter on my bureau and sat at the foot of my bed.

Why on earth would she send a letter immediately after sending one the very night before? It was exceedingly uncommon. What could she possibly have to say that could not wait until the weekend, or could not even wait for the next day's mail courier? What could be so important that she would do something as strange as sending as send two letters, one after the other?

I stood up. _I hope it is not bad._ I walked forward._ What more could possibly happen?_ I picked up the letter. _She is going through so much right now._ I walked back. _I still do not know what to say to her._ I sat down. _Maybe they found Tony. _My heart leapt in my chest. The bitterness I had felt for him earlier for taking my Sarah away had dissolved when I had seen the pain that she was in. She needed him. And if they found him..._Maybe they found Tony_.

I stopped. _Maybe they found Tony._ The thought repeated itself in my head. What if they had found Tony? Would he be dead, his body all bloody and mangled? Would he be merely wounded, perhaps from gunpowder exploding? Hid did have a gun on his person when he had gone missing. Would he be inches from death, with mysterious claw marks and animal bites covering him? Would he be missing limbs, bleeding freely, bruised, battered, and weak from a heroic battle he had with terrible and dangerous enemy?

What on earth had happened to Tony, anyway?

Being attacked by an animal was the most likely. And, although Tony was probably a natural-born fighter, considering his size, he was a peaceful man, so winning a heroic battle with the evil foe was unlikely. He could have accidentally cut himself, while skinning the fox he had hunted. But he would not lose the amount of blood that he did if something as simple as that had happened. Perhaps the branch of tree, reaching high toward the sky, had fallen, wounding him. Maybe he had tripped and hit his head on a rock, the impact causing him to lose his memory.

No, I was letting my imagination get away with me. Thinking the way I was, presently, the sky could have fallen and oh-so-inconveniently landed on him. Or perhaps he was killed by an oncoming wave of pinecones and acorns, being thrown by the evil squirrel minions of Lord Whisker-Face.

Then again, I had not even read the letter yet. Perhaps it did not speak of Tony at all. If luck would have it, maybe Sarah had come to terms with the truth and moved on, finding a better, stronger love.

Rather unlikely. It had only been less than half a day since she had sent the first letter, announcing Tony's disappearance.

Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. Eagerly, I tore the envelope open.

_Catherine, _the letter began,

_My heart has been ripped in two. I was in love with a man who would deny the world for me. He would travel to the ends of the earth and back, if just to make me smile. He would give his life to me, for the sake of our love. _

_It would seem, instead, that he has given his life _for_ me. He has paid the ultimate price for our love, but in turn, he has destroyed us both._

_I now have nothing. Not the pleasure of knowing he will be home soon, nor the hope that I'll meet someone else. _

_Even if that were possible, I would not allow it. I loved Tony, more than anything. No amount of force of any type could ever change that. Now, he is gone. _

_Gone from me, gone from his life, gone from the world._

_I am in desperate need of comfort. I can't possibly put in words the amount of relief the touch of your skin, the warmth of another human being would prove to me. I need you. I need your friendship, your voice, your heart. _

_If I do not have it soon, I shall be forced to relieve myself from this suffering; by any means necessary. _

_I am dying, Catherine. Dying to a disease that no medicine can heal. I need you now._

_Heartbrokenly yours,_

_Sarah_

'Heartbrokenly'?

It was obvious that Tony's death was having a far worse affect on her than I had first thought, last night.

She thought that she was dying. According to the letter, she believed that she was dying to a disease. Of course, I knew she did not mean this literally, but in the state she was in, she might belive it.

The letter had a slight touch of hysteria about it.

Was my serious, ever leading Sarah coming undone? She had said that," I shall be forced to relieve myself of this suffering; by any means necessary." Was this a threat that she would _kill_ herself, if I did not immediately rush to her side? She made no attempt to say otherwise.

Evidently, she wanted me to feel guilty. About what, though, was beyond my reasoning. Perhaps she thought that I was to blame for the death of her husband. Perhaps she thought that it was my fault that she was now alone. Perhaps she believed that it was my fault that I was now the only person she had left.

She knew my schedule, and she knew my fathers harsh view on those who asked for leniency. There was no way, in all that lived and breathed, that he would let me visit my cousin, or anyone for that matter, on a week day. She also knew that he was not kind with those who disregarded his rules. Had she forgotten, in her desperate misery?

She was heartbroken, that was all. I was letting my imagination get away with me, yet again. This would pass. Time would heal her. Of course, I would send her a letter that night explaining my situation. Explaining that, yes, I would come to comfort her. I would explain that Mary had gone to far with her emotional abuse this time. I would ask Sarah if I could remain with her, perhaps permanently. I would relay to her that, if I left now, my father would not want a stain like my sudden disappearance on his reputation. He would immediately send out searches and the like until I was found, not allowing any detail go below his radar. Sara's house would be the first place he would search. I would tell her, this was why I could not leave until the weekend. I would then, once at her house, flee with her.

But, for this plan to work, I would have to live out the end of this week as though all was well; put on a mask not too dissimilar from my mother's. I would endure the rest of my lessons, then my torture would be over.

There was a knock at my bedroom door.

"Mademoiselle?" It was the butler again. "Miss, I'm sorry to intrude again. May I come in?"

"Of course." I said, folding Sarah's letter and stowing it away beneath my pillow.

The butler opened the door, and stiffly entered the room. Then, my sixth-sense kicked in.

_He was anxious, nervous about something. But the nervousness had a lukewarm sense about it. Anxious about family, perhaps? No, it was simpler than that, more blunt. Ah, his eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion; loneliness. He simply wanted to see his family again. But, nevertheless, he remained faithful to his job and walked about like a scarecrow, as though he had a brace keeping his back straight. _

"Miss," he stated dully, cutting short my thoughts, "your mother wishes to see you now. She would like to start your lessons."

"Yes, thank you." I replied.

OoOoO

We started the day with posture, poise, and walking.

My mother first had me walk in a straight line she had marked with a strip of ribbon on the ground.

"A lady's gait says a lot about her person." Her person? What would my mother know, she had no personality. "You must show those around your stature, that you are of high positioning." Power, what else? That was all that anyone thought of nowadays. "You must stand tall, and walk straight. Hold your hands in front of you, folded at your torso."

Propriety. Frankly, I thought it was a laugh. A beggar could fool the world by simply wearing fine clothing and walking straight.

Then, I thought about how I had determined what the butler was feeling. It was as if I had branched my consciousness out, and touched his mind. Read his thoughts, in a way. I wondered if I could do the same with my mother.

Relaxing myself into the position she had showed me, I concentrated.

She was surprisingly easy to read.

_She wished that she had conceived a son. She hated being bothered with the foolishness of propriety and the like, and would have much rather had a boy who would not need training such as this. _Well, at least we agreed on one thing. She would never state the pointlessness of these lessons out loud though, lest she concur the wrath of my father.

I had lost it. Her thoughts slipped and squirmed out of the grasp of my consciousness.

"Catherine! Where your mind has wandered is beyond me, but I would prefer that you pay attention to me when I am speaking. It is not polite to stare stupidly at the space behind a persons head, when that person has requested your attention." Her voice was sharp, annoyed. Mostly at the fact that she had to do this at all though, not at me.

"Sorry, ma'am." I tried, unconvincingly, to amend.

The day continued on much like this; my mother trying to correct in my ways of communicating, walking, speaking, and appearance. Then, when I thought she was content, I would branch my consciousness out to hers again, in an attempt to read her thoughts. She would correct me for dazing, then we would begin again.

It was a tediously boring and tiring day, and I welcomed the evening.

I was at my the desk in my room, preparing to write my letter to Sarah.

I heard steady, yet well-balanced footsteps coming up the stairs; which could only mean that it was the butler. I tidied my desk, no need to look sloppy, and stood, smoothing out my skirt as I did so.

Before he had a chance to knock, I called out, "Come in."

He opened the door and entered.

Suddenly, his irritation and sympathy washed over me. Without even thinking, I branched out.

_He was very hot, but the heat came from just beneath his skin; irritation. Also, there was a slight tinge of stress, tenseness; irritation at a woman, but not one he knew very well. Then gentle warmth; sympathy, directed at me._

"Miss, another letter from Sarah," he stated, putting the slightest amount of stress on _another._

I sighed, "Thank you, just put it on the bureau, if you please." I said, nonchalantly accepting his sympathy. "That will be all."

"Of course, Miss," he said, submissively," good even'."

He placed it on my bureau, and left.

I did not even bother to stop and think about what more Sarah could possibly have to say. Resignedly, I took the letter off the dresser.

Trying not to give myself time to think about what more could have happened to Sarah, I sat down at the foot of my bed and slipped my finger beneath the crease of the envelope.

Sliding my finger firmly between the paper, I turned it slightly upward at the end, expecting to meet the edge of the paper. Then, the edge curved down and sliced the tip of my finger, drawing blood. My mother would not be happy about this. To avoid a mess, I sucked the wound. I stood up and removed my handkerchief from my dresser, covering the cut with it.

I sat down again, and removed the letter from the wretched envelope.

_I believe that Tony is alive. I saw him in the backyard for a mere second, before he disappeared. It could have been his angel, but I knew in my heart that it was him. I blinked and he was gone. Friends of ours, and neighbors have been going missing from this area a lot recently. I think Antonio's disappearance is somehow connected with the others. I am not sure what is going on, but my gut tells me something is amiss. I shall discover it, and unearth why my Tony is hiding from me. _

_Sarah_

The letter was written is untidy, sloppy script, as though she had written it as the mail courier waited at the door.

I would have been relieved at this, but I could not find it in my heart to be. The Sarah who wrote this letter, reminded me so much of the old Sarah, before she met Antonio. But, I knew she was not herself, and she could not have possibly recovered from her recent hysteria, from only earlier today.

Regardless, she seemed content enough to solve her mystery. I did not intend to disturb that peace.

Tomorrow was Thursday, which usually meant dancing and horseback-riding, but my tutor in both had recently died of old age. So, until my father found a new tutor, I had Thursday off. Actually, this was the last Thursday I had off, considering that I would leave, or better, escape on Saturday.

Quite honestly, I intended to lock my door and sleep through the whole of the next day, which was exactly what I did.

OoOoO

_I am falling. Falling through the air, the blackness, the emptiness. It swirls around me like leaves in the autumn, like particles in a lake when the water is disturbed; the darkness swirls around my plummeting body._

_No, I am not falling, there is nothing to fall from; nothing to fall to; nothing to fall through. I am drifting._

_Drifting through another time, another place, though not to dissimilar from my own. I see flashes of what goes on around me; a couple pleasantly riding horses next to a lake, a mother scolding her child as he strays to near to the snake slithering toward them, a young man screaming as an invisible force tortures his mind...This lasts a mere moment before I am pulled through to another dream..._

_The pain leaves the man, in the form of a dark, billowing cloud of black, and turns to stare at me. It grins, then pulls itself forward, engulfing me. _

I awoke completely covered with a cold, sticky sweat. The nothingness reminded me of my life, how the decisions I made and the things I did seemed pointless. They affected no-one but myself, a saddening thought, as I am but a depressed seventeen year-old girl.

The second dream reminded me of my sixth-sense; Of how I noticed the insignificant details of the things that proved even more insignificant to others.

My thoughts wandered beyond myself, and became foggy, unclear, as I drifted back into a heavy slumber.

_I am walking down a tunnel, far beneath the ground. It is wet, warm and smells of death and decay. As I continue my slow tread, a dim light begins to appear at the end of the tunnel. I quicken my pace, eager to escape the dank, tomb-like passage. It flickers brighter as I get closer, as if the brightness is somehow connected to my presence. I get closer, and finally, I came to the end. I step out toward the light, and it is warm. It swells outward, as if in effort to reach out to me. It grows until I thought it might burst, then it does. It explodes, spilling out it's warmth and brightness all around me, until it fills the space we stand in. It covers me with comfort, joy, pleasure, and all the good things of this earth that I have never experienced before._

_A sliver of darkness creeps into my dream, twisting and turning it's way through the light. But, the light recoils and retreats wherever the tendril swirls, as if to avoid it. The swirl gets bigger, swells like the light once did, only it is dark. The darkness branches out, much like my ability to feel the environment around me, and becomes huge. The warmth contracts into itself, trying to escape the chill of the blackness. _No, go away... _I say to the tendrils of darkness, _We don't want you here. _The darkness turns to me, reaches out to me. I feel it caress my soul, then it flows through me. The darkness sucks up my warmth, as if through a tube. The lights dim, until it is barely a whisper, barely able to withstand the dark. It barely lives, barely moves. Then I blink, and it is gone. _

_I am falling again, through the darkness, the cold, the evil. I let myself go into it. I know there it no escaping, I can only wait. Only wait for it to release me._

_I feel myself waking. I feel the conscious world try to pull me through. _

_The world goes bright, as if I am on the sun itself. The light is back. Not the same light, but one much like it; there to comfort me, surround me. _

_All is white._

OoOoO

I woke up to the sound of heavy pounding, angry pounding, on my door.

"Catherine!" I heard my fathers muffled voice come through, "Catherine, what on earth?!"

He was yelling. This must have been important if my father was willing to find it within himself to raise his voice.

"Catherine, I have been calling you for ages! Bloody hell, woman, get up!"

It was unlike my father to curse, as it proved that he actually contained emotion. And he had called me "woman." The way he had said it made me feel as if he wished to disown me, like the way he would speak to a stranger he passed by on the street as she trod on his foot.

Curious, I tried to branch out.

_Thud, thud, thud! _

My father's incessant pounding crippled my ability to concentrate. Still a bit groggy, I answered, "Do give me a moment, for Lord's sake."

The pounding stopped. No doubt I would get a lecture for using such a disrespectful tone with him.

"Blast! Do hurry up! When you are decent, do come down to the library. Your mother is already there, as I have called a family meeting."

A family meeting? Why my father could not just tell me whatever it was now, and leave me in peace, was beyond my understanding.

"Yes, sir."

He had cursed, twice! Evidently, there was something dreadfully important about, as it had caused my father to act so angry. But of course, he was the head of this house. He could do whatever pleased him most at any given time.

I threw on the clothes I had worn the day before as quick as I could manage. As I struggled with the strings of the corset, I realized my mother would not be pleased to see me adorned is clothes I had been wearing yesterday. Nonetheless, I did not slow. I could bare any punishment she had for me, as I would be leaving soon.

After I was fully clothed, I rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping at the bottom. Rather unceremoniously, I threw the door at the bottom of the steps open, and rushed inside. Whatever my father was on about, I would prefer to have it over and done with as soon as possible so I could get on with sleeping, with dreaming.

"Catherine, you remind me of an elephant, the way you came down and made your entrance. I could hear you stomping at the top of the staircase from all the way down here!" My mother chided.

"Sorry," I muttered, sitting down.

My mother stiffened at my abruptness, but said no more.

My father looked up from the leather chair he was sitting in, letting emotion fill his voice.

" I have decided to leave," he stated frankly, "I am sick of this family, and I am sick of this life. I intend to go purchase a house elsewhere, as far away from here as possible. And I am taking Mary with me."

It was unladylike, what I did next, but this did not deter me. "Good," I said, "You and that dog of a woman can go and leave me in peace. I hope you enjoy fucking her brains out of her head every night, as you two flounce about in the bedroom, leaving dents in the wall as you go along."

I swear I saw my mother smirk, regardless of the unforgiveable slang I had used.

My father stood, raised the back of his hand, and struck me hard across the face.

Letting out a gasp as I fell to the floor, I inhaled again to continue, unpertured. "I am sure you are aware that she makes no effort to hide your affair. Hell, she even brags about to the servants. We all know, and frankly, it is naive, pathetic, and shallow of you to believe that she would want to settle down with an old bastard like yourself. But then again, now that I say it aloud; How fitting! The disgusting slut and the shallow bastard, off to live happily ever after together!" My father raised his hand again. "You can strike me all you want, _Papa, _but it does not change the facts. In fact, you can beat me to a bloody pulp, but you shall remain the heartless, hideous, toad that you are. My mother does not love you, I do not love you, and Mary screws plenty of other men besides yourself. I am sure there is probably a different one for every day of the week! No-one cares for you, and it is unlikely that anyone could ever lower themselves that far, even if they tried." I gasped for air, as I finished my speech.

"Mary has recently abandoned her other positions with her other pupils. She has no other works besides you, now." My father replied calmly. "And she is pregnant, with my child."

My mother, who until now had been staring forward at the wall, shifted in her chair. She would have no means of finance if my father were to leave.

What Mary had said earlier this week made sense now. She had said, "We shall see," in response to me reminding her of her worthlessness in my fathers eyes. She was pregnant, worse yet, with my half-sister. I shuddered at the thought.

My father breathed in to say something else, but at that moment, the butler knocked at the door. What was it with him and knocking? It was rather beginning to irk me. Could he not just ever open the door when he wished to tell us something? I supposed not.

"Enter," I heard my fathers voice call.

I picked my self up and straightened my skirt.

"Sir, and Madams, I have some rather terrible news. I am sure you are all aware of the recent disappearances in the area about a few miles north of here?" The butler asked, with a meaningful glance at me.

My father nodded, "Go on."

"Well," stated the butler, as if to brace himself for the news he was about to relay, "Sarah, the Mademoiselle's cousin, has joined the disappeared." I froze. "Along with Mary, whom I believe is your art instructor?"

It was my fathers turn to act surprised. "Mary is missing?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"Yes, Sir, and Sarah."

I turned to stare at my father. Part of me was feeling triumphant at this moment, because his plan to leave with Mart had been destroyed. The other part of me wished to throw itself in front a moving carriage, because my Sarah had also gone missing. Without thinking, I crumpled to the ground and began to sob.

Seeing this, my mother dismissed the butler. "That will be all, thank you."

He turned, obediently, and left.

"Dear me, what a shame for all of us!" My mother said, rather uncharacteristically, and eerily cheerful. "It would seem that you shall have to cancel your plans, my _Dear_." Why was she acting like a drunkard who had just been given another glassful of his favorite brand of whiskey? "I say this is most unfortunate. But, seeing as we would not want to lose face, I think it would be best if we forget everything that has been said tonight, in this room."

My Sarah was missing, my escape was crushed.

"I think to cele- I mean mourn," she stammered, "we shall have to take a shopping trip to the plaza tomorrow, my dear Cat. Just you and I."

My life was ruined. My life was ruined, and my mother was acting as though she was high on opium. I did not want to go shopping, surely she could understand that? I was hurting terribly, and all I wanted to do was disappear, disintegrate into the air, like Tony, Mary, and Sarah.

I also wanted to smack my mother. She had no right to act as happy as she was, even if she did loathe her own family.

"We shall have a grand time, us two. But, to insure that we have the energy needed, we should go to bed now. Good night, my love." She said, pecking me on the cheek.

She was acting unladylike, happy, and as if she actually had any feeling for me. The world had truly been turned upside down.

"You are never to speak of this night to anyone, do you understand?" My father said, sternly.

If anyone were to find out that my father had planned to away with my art instructor, that would be the end of it. His reputation, and his money. I nodded, glumly.

He straightened, and left the room.

My Sarah was dead, missing. The last I had heard from her were words written on a page, of mystery and the unknown, that screamed lunacy.

My Sarah was gone, my plan to leave this life was crushed, _AND _I had to go shopping with my mother tomorrow.

Fate is bothersome.

**Well, waddya think? I was very pleased with how this chapter turned out. And no worries; we will, without a doubt, see our first vampire in chapter four. **

**I'm gonna be mean and say, "No updates until at least 20 reviews." So, r&r!**

**-Mar**


	5. Questions

**Can it be...is it really...OMFG it's chapter 4!!**

**After what, like, 6 months? Ah, I'm so sorry that I dissapeared. If youa are reading this and have not already vowed to never look at another thing I write again, please forgive me. **

**But without further ado, I present...chapter four.**

**Questions**

_Eleven years previous _

"I will not! Mama says that playing is for boys only. And it is dirty!"

An annoyed Sarah snorted at this. "Well, your Mama" she sneered the word, "would not know, would she? I bet she never ever played when she was six."

"Of course not! Because her Mama told her not to. Why would she do something she was told she should not? That is being bad, she says."

"Oh, please. If everyone always did what they were told, the world would not be the place it is today, would it?"

This confused Catherine. "What are you talking about?"

"Bloody hell, never mind."

"Sarah!"

"What? My Papa says it all the time when he's mad."

"Well, you are not your Papa! I am sure your Mama told you not to say that? To curse like that? It offends the Lord Jesus."

"Oh, yes, 'Do what I say, not as I do!' It is an ageless tradition between Mamas, Papas, and their children. One day, my silly Catherine, you will learn this."

Catherine harrumphed. She hated it when she did not understand what Sarah was saying. Sarah was so much smarter than Catherine, and it made her feel as though their relationship was somehow tipped toward her, that she had to try extra hard to make Sarah want to be friends with her. Sarah always assured her that this was all 'coddlesworth', Catherine had not even bothered to ask her what that meant, but still, she felt as though Sarah could leave her, would leave her, anytime without a second glance.

Deep down, Catherine knew that Sarah would not do that, would not abandon her. But, still, the knowledge that she could abandon her hung over Catherine's head like a shadow. An inescapable reminder of the near possibilities.

"And as for the Lord Jesus, he can kiss my foot if a simple curse offends him so. Someone like that is not a person I would want to be friends with."

Catherine blushed.

"Now, Catherine, my dear, if you will not climb the tree with me, I will just do it myself. Then, you will be all alone on the ground, with only the hem of my dress to look at, stories above you!" With that, Sarah stuck out her tongue and ran away.

Catherine followed, reluctantly, for she knew that the consequences would be dreadful if her Mama caught her climbing a tree. Even if she saw her running after Sarah.

But, Sarah did have one thing straight, Catherine did not like to be left alone, least of all by her only friend. She trudged, half unwillingly, half desperately, after her galloping, laughing, best friend.

_Present_

There had been times, when I was still small, when I had believed that Sarah was somewhat cruel. I had sometimes thought that Sarah could have been a little gentler in the way that she went about trying to get me to live my life. I was never one for breaking the rules, not because I was a "goody two-shoes" as Sarah often called me, but because I simply saw no point. I did not think that it was fun, and did not get near the amount of adrenaline that Sarah did, the times that I did break the rules.

I chuckled at this. Sarah was always a firecracker, constantly running, always had something to say about everything. I never knew why I had latched onto Sarah, it just happened.

Perhaps because Sarah had been the only one to see me as a person. Even my mother did not acknowledge my feelings when I was small. In fact, my mother was at the very top of that list.

The carriage that said woman and I were riding in suddenly lurched to the side, as it swung around a turn.

We were headed to the Shopping Plaza, the two of us, the carriage driver, and the footman sitting on top of the carriage. I dearly pitied him; it could not be much fun up there in the cold. And when we arrived at our destination, all he was going to do was carry around shopping packages after myself and my mother. I assumed that someone with a job like that could not possibly have much of a life of their own.

Across from me, my mother heaved a dramatic sigh. So far, the entire ride had been awkward and unpleasant.

I did not mind so much. I did not really wish to speak to anyone at the moment, least of all, my mother.

She cleared her throat. "Well, I was looking through your wardrobe the other day. I truly think that a few new dresses are in order."

"That's nice." I said, looking away. This was neither the time, nor the place that I wished to discuss dresses and high fashion. I wanted greatly to simply sit in silence and think about happier times.

"Catherine." My mother snapped her fingers in front of my face. "I am trying to make conversation. You are being very rude by ignoring me."

I sighed, "And I am trying my hardest to ignore you. You are being very rude by trying to disrupt that. And needless to say, when you wish to get someone's attention, snapping your fingers at them is not the most polite way to go about it."

"Don't you dare try and tell me what you think is rude and how to avoid it, Catherine." She enunciated every word to the extreme, very nearly spitting in my face. "You are seventeen years old. You may be clever, my dear, by that does not at all mean you are intelligent."

"I could say the same for you. Minus the ripe young age, of course."

My mother straightened and glared straight at me. "Catherine, not only was that extremely uncalled for, but a bit contradictory after trying to correct my manners."

"Mother, let us be blunt, shall we? It is just us girls right now, after all." My mother raised her eyebrows. "My one and only true friend in the world has gone missing. She was the only person who gave a flying fuck about whether I lived or died, or even that I have human emotions. It seems very likely that I will never see her again, and even more likely that she is dead. And you want to talk about dresses? What were you doing, going through my wardrobe, anyway? If we are speaking of how to avoid rudeness, I do not think that searching through someone's personal possessions without asking them quite follows as shamelessly as one might think."

"Dear, I am your mother. I can go through your wardrobe if it pleases me. And it was for you, Catherine. I wanted to know what clothing you needed."

My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I cackled, laughing at the roof of the carriage.

"'You are my mother?' Since when has that ever, ever been an excuse for you? And, oh, I wish it was even a good one! You have never cared for me the way a mother should, so don't you dare try and use maternal instinct on me."

My mother's voice became sharp. "Catherine, I have cared for you your whole life. Since before you were even born, my dear. I have taken care of you, loved you, and watched you grow up indifferent to me. That is painful, Catherine, to have your only child not love you."

"I'm indifferent to you? I do not love you? Ha! Mother, you are oh so very funny, truly you are. All my life, every time I have looked at you, I see empty eyes. I see eyes that cannot hold emotion, and if they could, would not choose to. Whenever you looked at me, you looked through me. You were never tender, as a mother should be, never held me, never even hugged me, mother. A spare kiss goodnight, perhaps every other year, would have been nice. I always felt like I was weighing you down, and not because this was something I noticed. Oh no, this was the way you acted around me. Everything you said, every movement in relation to me, you did not bother to conceal your indifference to me. It has been this way for as long as I could possibly remember, mother. If you did love me as you say you did, mine and your definition of love must completely contradict each other."

"Catherine..." she shook her head, "Catherine, your view on life is so one-sided. Have you ever taken into thinking of someone's point of view besides your own?"

You have no idea. "I have indeed, mother. Even so, your actions still make little sense to me."

"There have been times, often, granted, that I have wished my life was different. That I imagine what would have happened if I had denied you father's hand. A life like mine is not easy, do not be mistaken-"

I snorted. "Oh yes, having to sit around all day and just glare at the servants? I expect that must be very trying on your mentality, you poor dear, you."

"Please, do not interrupt me."

My mouth clamped shut and I beckoned her to continue.

"Your father and I were wed merely for the wealth that was to be gained if we pooled our family's money. In the early years of our marriage, he beat me on a regular occasion, Catherine. He had many mistresses that he did not even try to hide from me, if only for my sanity. But when I became pregnant, I was so unbelievably happy. Not because I would have a child with my wretched husband, no, but because I would have an outlet. A source of happiness, of relief, even, in a painful existence."

I listened, thinking of how I might continue to plead my case.

"The child was stillborn. She-"

"Wait, you had another child besides me?"

"Again, Cat, do not interrupt me."

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry."

"The child was stillborn. She had managed to wrap her umbilical cord around her neck while she was still in my womb, and was born dead."

"A blessing in disguise, as I'm sure she's come to understand." I blinked.

"Please, Catherine." my mother's voice broke. "When I became pregnant again, there was not a movement I made that was not thoroughly considered and thought-over, in hopes of keeping you safe. But then, I began to realize, that although you would be my child, you were also your father's child, as well. This scared me to no end, the thought that you might look like you father, that I might see his face every time I looked at you."

"Oh. I am sorry my face disappoints you so."

"You came out looking like your mother, only prettier."

What? I had not expected this.

"But your eyes, my dear. When you were a month old, I remember a day that you looked at me. You narrowed your brown eyes, and for a moment, they were shinning and sharp as anything. Even though I knew you would be smarter than most, it scared me.

Then, when you were five years old, we began to disconnect."

"Now, that I do remember."

"You sort of contracted into yourself. Then you met Sarah, and completely cut yourself off from the rest of the world. I did not understand it, because Sarah was so outgoing. A relationship with her would most likely result in more communication with the world, I thought. I made the mistake of letting you become who you were without my help. I should have been there to guide you more. I should not have left you to make adult decisions when you were so young."

"Are you saying this is Sarah's fault?"

"I am saying that it is my fault. We have only grown more apart as the years have gone by, and I suppose neither of us wished to swallow our pride and reach out to the other."

"Ahhh. So your explanation for treating me like I was air was that I flashed a sassy look at you when I was a month old, I met my cousin, and then I became a full-fledged adult at six? Well, this was all a bit much for you, so you decided to just leave me to it! Ah well, what is done is done, I suppose."

"My dear, we all make mistakes. Even you. I would like you to take into consideration that I am only human."

"Well, do not fear, mother. Soon Papa will marry me off to some disgusting old rich bastard, and I'll be free of you, and you of me! Then I can squeeze a few out, and have my own children to ignore! 'Like mother, like daughter,' no?" I was being unreasonable now, I knew this. But the bitterness I had stored up over the years, nurturing it on means on being ignored and hated, had hardened into a rock. I was angry, mostly with myself, and it was coming out in the words I spoke.

"I have done many things that I regret. But I will not apologize, for you have made plenty of mistakes of your own."

"No worries, Mama, I was not, in the least, expecting you to apologize."

My mother settled back into her, replacing her mask. She had said all she intended to, and more. She was back to her usual self.

I did the same, and dwelled on a memory...

_Ten years previous_

"How dare you, you pathetic little slut!" the fiery redhead that haunted Catherine's nightmares, screamed at her.

"What did I do?! I only said that you are wrong about the crosshatching! It does not always have to go up! It goes in whichever direction that the shadow does!"

An innocent seven-year-old Catherine, against a full-fledged modern whore, Mary. Even though Catherine was right, Mary was the teacher, and would not let the pupil get away with contradicting her.

"If I say always do your crosshatching upward, always do your crosshatching upward, god-damn it!" She grabbed a candelabrum on the near table and raised it to strike Catherine.

The young girl noticed the movement, and tried to dodge beneath the table. Mary brought her hand down, and the instrument struck hard against the child's forearm. She yelped in pain and turned around to try and leave the room.

Mary was faster this time, and brought the piece down against the child's back. This slowed the child, and the teacher went again for the back of her head. The child sobbed, not knowing how to make it stop.

She fell to the ground and the piece was brought down again, this time, on her the back of her shoulder.

The seven-year-old Catherine lay there, wailing pitifully, as the mad teacher beat her again an again, over and over.

"STOP IT!" the girl sobbed, "PLEASE! Stop it!"

"I'll. Teach. You. To. Con-Tra-Dict. Me." The teacher did not falter, aiming a blow with each word.

Then, the sound of a carriage pulling to halt outside caused the teacher to hesitate.

Catherine did not wait; she leapt up, unbearably sore and in pain, and bolted for the door. The teacher did not pursue her, she had learned her lesson.

The young child ran through the many rooms of the mansion, sobbing as she pumped her sore body. The maids looked up and muttered in alarm, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders. The 'masteh's' daughter did not slow as she ran by the door of the kitchen, choking out sobs and shudders. She shakily pushed the enormous rear door open and stumbled over the doorframe into the flower garden. The gardener paused for a moment and looked up from his begonias at the crying child. She narrowed her tear-filled eyes at him and stomped away.

She tripped over a stone engraftment that marked the end of the gardens and shouted as her knee hit the ground. Not faltering, she continued onward up to the edge of a fence. She hitched her foot up onto the first bar, and swung her other leg over the top, falling to the ground on the other side with a thud. She huffed and stood up to brush her once- white gown, grumbling about how unfair it was.

A bright-eyed young mare noticed the curious creature leaping over everything and falling to the ground numerous times from afar. Then, the strange being with an untidy mop of fur on top of her head, stumbled over her fence and into the mare's favorite grazing spot. She watched the white frill-clad beast stiffen as she felt eyes upon her back, and look up at the mare. She stuck out her little pink tongue and marched onward, meaningfully avoiding the large piles of the mare's leavings.

Once she reached the other end of the pasture, Catherine harrumphed her way over the opposite fence, in much the same way she had the first.

The forest behind the property was not far now, about fifty paces. The little girl covered this space in the blink of an eye, running now, and pushed her way into the underbrush.

She collapsed beneath the first tree she came to and began to sob again. She cried and cried, not bothering to care whether someone might hear her or not.

"It's not fair! I don't-It's just not fair!" she croaked to herself, "I do not under-I just can-What did I do? It's not fair!" she sniffled. "What did I do"

Then, a cheerful familiar voice came from the vegetable garden, before the woods began.

"Catty-catty-catty-Cath'rin. Where's my catty-catty-Cath'rin? Catty-catty-KITTY-catty, catty-catty-catty-Cath'rin!"

Catherine looked up to see a friendly face.

"Catherine!" Sarah exclaimed. "There you are. I was told that I would find you h-" Sarah stopped as she took in Catherine's tear-stricken face, "Catherine! What happened?" Sarah noticed the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Mary. She beat me with a candlestick. I said do the crosshatching with the shadow, and she did not like that, so she hit me. What did I do? I do not understand why she was so mad." She sniffled.

"Oh! She hit you?!" Sarah gasped, "My poor Catty-Cath'rin!" She ran forward and threw her arms around her sobbing friend. Catherine welcomed the embrace, and snuggled into Sarah.

"Oh, my poor Catty-Cath'rin, my poor dear." Sarah cooed, stroking Catherine's arm. "My poor Catty-Cath'rin."

"I hate her." Catherine choked.

"I hate her too, for what she did to my Catty-Cath'rin. She is not a nice lady, she deserves to be hated. You can tell when you look at her. She just glares at everyone like a cockroach." Sarah pulled a face, imitating Mary.

Amidst the crying, Catherine snorted a giggle.

Sarah held her cousin, rocking her back and forth, telling her stories, drying her tears, and throwing curses at Mary, until Catherine felt better.

"You should show your Papa your bruises. I bet there are a lot." Sarah stated.

"He will not listen. He likes Mary too much. I think-" she paused. She was treading into unfamiliar territory, "I think he likes her. Like, the way a Papa likes a Mama?"

Sarah snickered. "I think so."

Catherine joined in the giggling, which grew until they were laughing at loud.

"Mary aa-hannd Uncle! Mary aa-hannd Uncle!" Sarah started chanting, laughing the whole time.

Catherine joined in. "Mary aa-hannd Papa! Mary aa-hannd Papa!"

They both fell over laughing, holding their sore stomachs from giggling so hard.

Then quickly Sarah looked up, an intricate though dawning on her face.

"Do you ever think we'll be married? And become Mama's?" she asked Catherine.

"I do not know. Probably, almost all little girls are."

"Euch." Sarah made a face. "I hope not."

Catherine tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Well," said Sarah, putting on her know-it-all voice, "we have these neighbors. They have a little boy, our age, and he always pulls my hair and knocks me down. One day, I told him to stop and he called me 'a silly little girl'. I did not like this, he was my age! How could I be 'little' to him? So I hit him. He ran away crying, and later, my Papa told me, he pulled my pigtails because he liked me. Because he thought I was pretty." She paused. "And then he said that I should not have hit him. Now he is only going to do it more."

"So?"

"Well, if that is what people who like each other do to each other, how could you possibly want to get married? I mean, I have never seen my Papa pull my Mama's hair, but he says he does."

"Your Papa pulls your Mama's hair?"

"He says so."

"Hmmm. My Papa does not pull my Mama's hair. She would not like that very much, I expect."

"Well, that is probably because he is far too busy pulling Mary's hair." They both giggled.

Sarah rolled onto her back and looked up into the thick canopy of leaves that covered the sky from their view.

"Why do you think people have to get married?" she asked, serious again.

"Hmmm?"

"If two people love each other, and all their best friends know that they love each other, why do they have to get married?"

"Well, Mama says that God does not acknowledge a true relationship unless people get married."

"Acknowledge a wh-? That's coddlesworth! I think that marriage is a bunch of coddlesworth!"

"Some people do not think so!"

"Well then they are coddlesworth too!"

Catherine snorted. "I do not know what this 'coddlesworth' means, but I am assuming it is bad. You should not let anyone else hear you say that."

"Coddlesworth to that too! Every coddling coddler can coddle my coddling coddlesworth, if they have a problem with my coddlesworthing."

This made Catherine laugh, then Sarah joined in, and they were both laughing again.

"Oh, my Catty-Cath'rin." Sarah breathed, "What would I do without my catty-Cath'rin?"

Catherine smiled.

_Present_

I remembered that moment that I had shared with my cousin, all those years ago and I wished that life could still be so simple. Without having to be beaten with a candlestick to get there, of course.

I was trying to avoid thinking of Sarah in the present day; delirious, and missing. I knew that if I could replace all thoughts and feelings for her with pleasant memories and warm emotions, I could prevent myself from breaking down and sobbing at any sporadic moment. Although trying to altogether erase her from my mind would be impossible. There was an unconscious desire to keep her face firmly planted in the front of my mind, so attempting to forget her altogether would only bring out the freshest memories. These were ones I did not wish to dwell on, so I remembered her as she was in our innocence.

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the driver tapped on the window.

"Beggin' yer, pardon, mum, but we've arrived," came a muffled voice from the roof.

"Very good." replied my mother. The carriage bounced slightly as the footman jumped to the sandy ground. I heard him brush himself off, and then carriage door opened.

I stepped out first, as was custom, but not soon enough to miss my mother mutter something about trying not to argue with her today. I had the sense not to question her, least of all in front of the footman. He gingerly took my gloved hand as I exited and helped me off the single step.

"Thank you." I replied kindly, as I always did, though it was not custom.

"Yes mum." He mumbled, as he always did. It occurred to me then what agreeable servants we must have. I had heard stories, from my uncle, speaking of 'hooligans' and troublemakers who were never pleased. My father always scoffed at this, waving away his complaints. Our servants had been selected carefully, I now understood, for ones who would smile when we asked them too, complete any task we requested, never question us or their salary and finish it off with a skip and a leap. The thought flashed across my mind to ask him why he did it, but I stowed it away in the back of my mind. If I was going to ask, now was not the place. I wondered if a servant would even answer a question like that, and if so, with honesty. I supposed not.

My mother cleared her throat behind me, and I stepped delicately out of her way.

OoOoO

"Ridiculous." She muttered as we passed by a street performer. He was juggling cheerfully painted pins while his pet monkey did a pirouette on his head. I thought this an impressive trick, unlike my mother.

Our footman stumbling behind us, we were at the Shopping Plaza. Occasionally, he would stumble due to the hefty amount of packages his arms were laden with. At some point or another, my mother had decided that every place she laid eyes on, we had to slowly and meticulously sift through every item they carried.

It was more than a few hours after we had arrived, earlier that morning. After a thorough examination of every shop that vaguely interested my mother, came the thorough examination of all the shops that my mother believed should interest me. I assumed that this was to avoid having to stop and speak to me for more than a few minutes, and did not question her actions.

Regardless, I did not fully comply with her either. While she would let her expertise gaze drift over random objects that only members of high society could afford, I would simply turn my back and walk away to wait with the footman. So, as her sharply irritated voice would carry over the heads of other shoppers and annoyed store clerks, seeking out her daughter's opinion, I would shuffle my feet awkwardly, hoping the footman would say something to make me feel more comfortable. But seeing as this was not his hire, we would simply stare at the ground as my mother's tenor pierced the silence, making it all the more deafening.

As my eyes skimmed the crowd before me, I noted the many different shapes and sizes of the people. Each carried themselves in a certain way, each spoke a certain way, and each avoided certain people and was drawn to others. Each person there at the plaza that day was entirely different, individual. This was a rather stupid realization, I thought, as no person is the same, but I thought on it nonetheless.

A little girl with brown hair and freckles skipped by in front of me; so happy, so carefree. Life is so simple when you are a child. There is no pressure to impress the rest of society, nor the desire to be perfect. There is just fear and love.

I thought of how every child wishes to grow old, and yet every adult wishes that they could just be a child again. You can try to convince a child, try to tell them to live their life, love their life, while they can. You can try to tell them to appreciate every minute of being able to rely on their parents and not having to support themselves. You can try to tell them to not try so hard to understand the things beyond their grasp, to just let them be and move on.

A child never understands this, though, for who does not wish to be grown up with privilege of making your own choices? Who does not want to be able to decide when their bedtime is, whether or not you can truly afford that toy, or whether or not you are going to eat your vegetables?

Still, an adult could never truly understand childhood, truly relive the feeling of being watched over and loved by your parents, once "maturity" is reached. You wonder, if only you had not tried to grow up so fast. If only you had lived your life a little more. If only you had gone to sleep at seven thirty, eaten your vegetables, given up on that toy, and made more time to go outside a play. If only you had not argued with your parents over that simple, and enjoyed the alternative they gave you. Perhaps stress would not be such the issue it was when you were older. But you cannot.

Life cannot be relived, decisions cannot be undone.

Curious, I branched out into the little girl's mind.

_Miss Mary mac-mac-mac_

A child's word game, one that I had never really understood, never took the time to enjoy.

_All dressed in black-black-black_

A silly game, no point to it, really...

_With silver buttons-buttons-buttons_

And yet, the child was smiling. A silly game, but it could mean so much, make one so happy.

_All down her back-back-back_

But I had never fully learned this game, my mother never had taken the time to stop and teach her daughter this silly, little child's game. I had heard it from Sarah, once, and had dismissed it as foolish, since I knew that the adults in my life would see it so. Maybe if they had let me live my life as a child, even though they never really lived theirs, some things would have been different. Maybe-

"Catherine, what are you doing? You really shouldn't mope about so. It irks me to no end. Ta, hmmm lovely. Look at this sweater, would you? I love how it looks on me, but I am quite convinced that it makes my arms look not too dissimilar from sausages, no?"

No, mama dear, I thought, your flabby arms make your arms look like sausages, not the sweater.

I cleared my throat. "No, it looks fine."

My mother heaved a sigh, "Catherine, you really mustn't dwell on this situation with Sarah. I understand your anxiety, I'm sure, but you should not let it ruin other people's moods. I am trying to enjoy myself and perhaps buy something for the family. The desperation and sadness that shows on your face, however, completely stunts all possible enjoyment I could have."

"Well, mother," I said, looking up and speaking softly, "perhaps the reason that the only emotions my face show are perturbing desperation and sadness, is because the only emotions I feel right now are perturbing desperation and sadness."

"But we don't all have to suffer for it, do we?"

"Apparently we do. How about you tell me a knock-knock joke to lighten the mood?"

My mother sighed. Carefully judging each movement, she delicately removed the sweater, folded it, and handed it to the store clerk.

"Thank you for your time," she said to him gently, not remaining to hear his confused "Welcome."

"Come with me, please." She said, not breaking her mellow tone.

I followed, turning and beckoning to the footman to follow. I could not help but imagine my mother taking me behind a building a suddenly beginning to roar and beat me with a stick.

She moved swiftly forward, seemingly using mental telepathy to clear the space in front of her as she put her foot down there.

The Plaza was roughly a large square. On three sides of the square, roads lead straight toward it. In the very center, was a large circular fountain. Nothing fancy, just a simple floral pattern was etched into the marble where the water spewed forth. All around the inside of the square were strip malls, long lines of endless stores toward every horizon you looked. Some stores had Jewelry, others fine gowns, some suits for men, others materials for horseback riding. There was a store that contained only buttons, a toy store, a genuine furs store, and a leather store. In between the edge of countless stores and the wide fountain in the middle, were stalls.

Some were food stalls, some were feather stalls, and I even spotted a tea stall. And, of course, there were Tom Foolery stalls.

My mother led us past all these, leaving the footman tottering as fast as he could behind us. We continued on back past the joker and his monkey, where she stopped with me by the fountain.

"I'm sorry," _you hateful bitch__._

"As you well should be." She breathed, not yet abandoning the gentle undertone, "Are we copasetic now?"

"Of course." My best friend has been erased from existence and it turns out that my mother is secretly the world's most talented actress; she's been doing it my whole life, but everything is copasetic.

"Good, thank you. Let's find some lunch, shall we?"

I nodded as copasetic as I could manage.

My mother scanned all the nearest food stalls, looking for something suitable. Apparently spotting something she liked, she started off again, just as the footman caught up with us. Out of courtesy, I moved a little slower than my mother, so he would not lose sight of us again.

She approached an appetizing looking fruit stand, sizing up the specimens on display as she got closer.

"Fruit, Catherine?" she asked politely.

"That would be my assumption."

My mother's eyes flashed. Things were not quite as copasetic as she would have preferred, I mused.

The vendor perked up slightly at the sight of a potential customer. "In need of some, eh, refreshing fruit? Madams?" said the portly figure, which seemed to be a woman, though I was not sure.

"Ah, well, I might be tempted. Catherine, do you see something you like?"

"Mrh. I do not believe that everything is quite copasetic here."

"…Oh no…?" mused a confused mother of mine. What was her daughter up to now?

"No, seemingly not."

The manly woman (or the womanly man) behind the cart deflated again.

"'Seemingly not…'" my mother repeated, "Well, if the copasiety of the situation has come into question, please explain how it is so. Better yet, refer as to how the copasiety might be restored. I do hate having an uncomfortable situation." The vendor straightened again, slightly confused.

"Perhaps one like yourself might be restoring of the copasiety by leavings one's kin to be, at rest, so to speak? Or perhaps even bringing the missing back out of so, or the dead back to life! Oh, the copasiety would fill to brim and then some if such could happen."

I was losing my mind. Sarah, I wanted Sarah…

My mother grabbed me by the forearm, jerking me back to the side of the fountain.

"One moment please," she threw over her shoulder to the vendor. The wo-man had slumped back in his/her chair again at the sight of his/her customers walking away.

"Catherine, what on earth is wrong with you? Are you bloody stupid?" she growled.

"Bloody? No, not quite yet, I don't think so. Stupid? Perhaps – it is quite possible. Lack of intelligence or otherwise knowledge, which has come to be known as 'stupidity', is not just derived from lack of knowledge or otherwise intelligence, don't you know? It could easily come out of being lied to your whole life, then finding out the truth after seventeen and some years. Stupidity in that scenario would be considered a factor of shock, alarm, or even simply surprise. Or maybe even losing one's best friend, who happens to be their cousin, to an unknown godforsaken force that drags people through the forest and purposefully smears their blood in a trail behind them. That might cause someone to become or 'go' stupid. So, honestly my dear, I do not have a definite answer to your question."

My mother blinked. "Do we need to go home? Do you need to see some kind of special doctor?"

"Psh, no. Of course not." I smiled. "I just don't want fruit for lunch. Very un-copasetic of you to assume that everyone else would want the exact same thing that you do, dear."

Another blink. "So…would you like some coins to purchase yourself something slightly more copasetic to your taste so as to satisfy your seemingly ravenous stupidity?"

Apparently she knew how to fight with mad people. She spoke my new language well.

"How copasetic of you to think so. I appreciate your trying so hard to understand my stupidity."

"O-ho, it is really quite easy. I have had my fair share of stupid un-copasetic people, and one learns fast." She motioned to the footman, who was standing silently and pretending not to be soaking in every word we were saying. I assumed that the story of what happened at the shopping plaza would spread like wildfire amongst the servants when we arrived back home.

He balanced his delicate packages against his body by holding them firmly against his torso, and reached into a little black pouch tied securely around his waist with a black string. Removing a few coins, he placed them gingerly into my mother's outstretched hand.

She counted the coins.

"Here you go, Catherine. I hope everything is copasetic."

"I am beginning to find stupidity more preferable to copasiety, frankly." I said, taking the coins from her palm and holding them firmly in my own. "But thank you. Complacency is another very good feature that this family seems to hoist high upon it's broad shoulders."

My mother smirked and raised an eyebrow. "'Another?'"

"Along with stupidity and copasiety, of course."

"Ah, of course. Silly me."

I nodded and curtsied. "I won't be long."

"I do not expect you to be." She curtsied back, and turned toward the fruit stand. The vendor straightened again, smiling brightly. Stupid, copasetic, complacent woman. Or maybe it was a man; there was no way to be certain.

I breathed deeply and spun around. From my copasetic point of view, my other options without having to go back to mother at the fruit stand a forfeit victory to her were; a sweets stand, a funnel cake stand, a pie stand, and a sausage stand. Sausage it was; might as well go the extra mile once I was already on this road.

I approached the new stand meaningfully, letting my eyes appraise the greasy selection….

"Hey there, young lady." I jumped. I had not noticed the vendor leaning on the side of the cart.

He was tall with a broad chest, chocolate colored eyes, matching curls and lovely olive-colored skin. His highest cheekbones curved squarely into his sharp jaw line. Altogether, he was very handsome.

"Hello," I said politely, "Um, I was just looking for some lunch."

He strode to the back of the cart, confidently. "Well, I have the biggest sausage in the plaza. I'm told it's the most flavorful as well." he said, winking at me.

"Erm, yes please. That sounds nice." I replied, not quite sure why he had winked.

He flashed a smile. "Certainly. How much?"

"Pardon?"

"How much sausage would you like?" his smile broadened.

There was obviously some great joke that this young man had with himself that he was not going to let me in on. I hesitated, then slowly, "Enough for lunch?"

He burst out laughing.

I sighed and could not help but laugh along with him. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, my dear." He chuckled.

I started, slightly taken aback. "My dear?" No one besides Sarah had ever called me that. For the first time in my life, without the pressure of my father's tyrannical stare, a man was flirting with me.

I smiled slightly to myself, I felt very pleased. It was very satisfying, a feeling that settled itself gently in the core of my chest. I had never felt pleased before, but I supposed there was a first for everything.

Intrigued by my pleasure, I branched out into the man's mind.

His mouth at my neck, slowly tracing a line on my collarbone. He trails his mouth up to my ear, leaving a faint trail of saliva as he goes. I succumb, knotting my hands in his hair and pulling his mouth up to mine in a fierce, passionate kiss, our lips moving in the same motion. His hand slips around to the small of my back, pulling me close, pressing my body against his own. The other hand cups my breast, he moans.

His thoughts skipped ahead.

I abruptly pulled away, unfamiliar with the territory that his thoughts had turned to. Shuddering, I stumbled backward, though I had not taken a step. Not sure of which direction or where I was going, I turned around and ran.

Intercourse was something I was aware of, being an adolescent girl. When I was thirteen, I had been awoken in the middle of the night by my father's moans and Mary's shrill laughter and there had been times when I thought about it. Obviously, I was alive, so it had happened with my mother and my father. But I could never imagine myself; it just was not something I thought about. Now, another man, one I did not even know, had me all over his mind.

I knocked aside a fortuneteller who sat in my way and ran my kneecaps straight onto the lip of the fountain. I bent down, gasping in pain. This brought the contents of my stomach, not that there was much, up through my throat and out into the fountain.

When I was done retching, I stood straight and looked around, trying not to think of what I had just witnessed. I took a few unsteady steps forward, concentrating only on moving.

Before me sat a mirror stall, a group of wealthy looking middle-aged women admiring their own pig-faced selves in the largest. At my approach, they all turned up their noses and marched away, tutting over the image of young people, nowadays.

I went to stand by the mirror and confronted myself. As if on cue, a large rain cloud spread over the sun, casting the Plaza in a dark shadow. The slight breeze that had carried the cloud picked up, forcing itself on the heads and backs of the people in the Plaza, whipping through displays and twining through dresses.

It reached me and my parallel image, and we accepted it freely; without bracing ourselves like everyone else. I took the pins out of my hair and watched it dance around my face, as if each lock and tress were trying to see who could twirl through the most space. I examined myself; pale, young, evidently attractive to men, and still innocent. Yet miserable. I had never lived my life, but only because I had never been told I could. I had not even known that there was more of a life to live.

There had been a brief flash of hope yesterday, brief but beautiful. Then, without even a full day's passing, it had been snubbed out.

Like when a rose falls on the road in front of you. It catches your eye, and you turn your head at its beauty. For a split second, you dote on its fragility, then how it came to fall in the road, then, when it is far too late, you realize that your own feet have trampled it, and now it is gone.

The wind whipped my hair forward, obscuring my face. Not agreeing with the tickling sensation, I reached and grabbed at it and twisted it back into a messy knot on the back of my head. Such a fragile rose. I glanced back up at the mirror. My cheeks were now flushed bright red, like all the others standing there.

Amongst all the tomato colored housewives clamoring about the wind, a snap reverberated through the air as one last gust of wind pulled back the hood of a browsing customer.

Upon first glance, what stood out most prominently to me was the eerie red glow of this person's eyes. I had heard of albino's with this 'deformity', but this person did not look like an albino.

Upon second glance, a more thorough examination, I recognized the face of someone I thought well to be dead.

I saw a friend.

**R&R, people. No chapter five until fifty reviews. And I promise, chapter five will come within a week of fifty. Not six months, like last time. :D**

**And of course, where would I be without my beta's? Audrey, Evey, you guys are amazing. Keep up the good work. :p**


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